Inside me, an itch has made its homeIt pecked itselfa splintered place to hide at nightI feel its fur turnbrush against methe rhythmic thumpof its legscrabblingkeeps me awake I feel it gnawing at its edgesscuttling beneath my skin

Accounting - Rachael Elliott

first the great unpicking seams slit with the smallest curved blade you own thread pulled through every pin hole picture frame until it makes a hot cord sound

and now, a reading: headline written in the slash of a night time cigarette gospel thou shalt now push a lie push a lie push a lie, baby don’t you cry the answer is five:

insecure little toadlings to strip the paint back caustic nose aches who melt lead paint (green) to find the wood but never, ever polish it it will never rain for dried up husk children unless couched in vicious laughter

soon, reflections: my elbow is the corner of your eye my head, blackened to fit the definition of your constricted pupil view nothing flows here we are weightless in plain packaging I will strip your accounting of me and leave it on the floor to polish it

Contributor's Note

Rachael has an MA in creative writing from the University of Waikato. She was Editor of Nexus Magazine (which received three Aotearoa Student Press Association awards) and she won the 2degrees Poetry Slam in 2014. Her work has appeared in Poetry NZ, 4th Floor and JAAM.